


When the Morning Comes

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Episode Ignis Verse 2, M/M, Post-Canon, Sick Character, Visually Disabled Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 12:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17508965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Ignis finds himself the worse for wear after a long trip to Tenebrae, but Prompto takes care of him.





	When the Morning Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Day 8 (January 20) Free Day/Make-up Day – Day 4 (January 16) Prompto is Ignis’ date to a royal function

"You look like death," Prompto said, entering Ignis' quarters with a perfunctory rap on the door. He crossed the room to the chair across from Ignis' and dropped down. Ignis couldn't help but wince as the legs dragged on the floor; the sound made his headache throb, even through the painkiller fog. He'd given in and put on his dark glasses an hour or so ago. He _felt_ like death, but he found it galling to be so transparent. "Can't you skip this shindig?"

"I'm afraid not," Ignis said. He refrained from shaking his head, even though he knew Prompto would pick up on that as well. He was too spent to dissemble. The sea crossing to Tenebrae had been a rough three days. "That would be terribly insulting." Noct was in Altissia; on the fifteenth anniversary of the destruction, they were finally holding a Day of Remembrance for all those who'd died.

Ravus was holding his own memorial for Lunafreya – the official opening of a teaching hospital named for her – and as Noct couldn't be in two places at the same time, he'd sent his Advisor in his stead. Ignis was not about to cause an international incident, simply on account of his own health.

Prompto sighed, and fidgeted. 

"Look," he said after a moment. Ignis turned his head just enough to give the impression that he _was_ looking. "We'll go down together, say hey to everyone, and leave early. Ravus will understand."

"I need to..." Ignis started, and then stopped, because obviously he wasn't capable of performing any of the diplomatic functions required. "Ravus will take insult."

He heard Prompto get up and walk behind him to close the curtains. Ignis had thought about doing that himself, but in the end it had seemed like too much effort. The darkness was, however, soothing. Prompto returned to stand behind Ignis' chair, resting his hands on his shoulders. _A friendly gesture,_ Ignis reminded himself, trying not to lean back into it. Prompto touched him a lot more after the fight in Gralea, because he was kind at heart and hated to see Ignis struggling with the loss of eyesight. Ignis yearning for that touch and melting in Prompto's presence was a humiliating loss of control, and he hid it as best he could. 

He believed he was successful. At any rate, Prompto had never indicated that he had any reciprocal feeling, so that was that.

Still, he felt moderately agonized to have Prompto give his shoulders a gentle squeeze and say, "I can help you get ready."

"Please don't treat me like a child," Ignis said, getting up all by himself just fine and tensing more at the loss of that well-meaning touch. And then he stared into the shifting mess of light and dark, trying to find the most wardrobe-like thing to aim himself at. He recalled that there had been two steps up from the sitting area to the bedroom area, and... he had no idea where anything was.

"Sorry," Prompto said, taking Ignis' hand and placing it on his arm. Ignis let him, because Prompto wasn't the one who should be apologizing, but he didn't know how to start explaining his temper without unraveling all his tangled issues and fears.

When they got there, with minimal stumbling over the damn steps, Prompto popped the wardrobe doors open and hummed happily. "The servants here know their stuff, everything's all hung up and ironed, ready to go." He clapped Ignis on the back. "I can bring gel if you want me to do your hair."

The wardrobe doors were mirrored on the inside, and Ignis still found himself glancing as if he could make out his reflection, a habit too ingrained to break. He learned nothing about the state of his hair, however. "It looks bad?"

"Wind-blown," Prompto corrected, as if that was somehow a good thing. "Never fear, I can do your up-do. I'll be back in ten!" 

He dashed off in a clatter of bootheels that rang Ignis' skull like a bell, and Ignis grit his teeth and dressed himself as quickly as he could. He was proud to wear the uniform of Noctis' Crownsguard, but even Gladio admitted the hooks, buttons, and buckles were a challenge to do up properly. Still, Ignis trusted in the work of his hands, and believed himself suitably attired to be presented at the court of the Tenebraean king. He fingered the earpiece of his glasses; the dark lenses would stand out and make his condition obvious, but without them the lights would stab into his brain like cactuar needles. He needed them, much as it chagrined him to admit, so he kept them on.

True to his word, Prompto reappeared with his toiletries kit, and hustled Ignis into the bathroom to dampen his hair and then sweep it back out of the way. Ignis checked and found no obvious faults, and wondered how Prompto's own hair was styled for the occasion. There was no good way to ask, so he didn't, but the sting of frustration stayed with him as they walked down three floors to the great hall and the evening's reception.

With Fenestala Manor still a burned-out ruin, the king now made his residence and office here in Fornix Hall. The architecture was, Ignis had heard, far less elegant than Fenestala's had been; the overly-ornate style popular fifty or so years ago, with inlaid woodwork and soaring arches. The staircase railing was made nearly useless by filigree, and the reception area outside the hall was lit by chandeliers shaped like cascading waterfalls, or so Prompto said. Ignis was just grateful that they were _dim_.

The main hall's lighting was more relentless, and its vaulted ceiling created echoes that he found instantly disorienting. To his frustration, the evening meal was provided as a standing buffet, which meant that he was surrounded by people carrying laden plates as well as drinks. Avoiding catastrophe would require careful maneuvering, like an advanced level of one of Noct's video games. He supposed that somewhere there were chairs, perhaps shoved up against the walls, but everyone else seemed content to wander with their food.

Two people so far – the vice-mayor of Conlis and the secretary to the minister of agriculture – had offered to bring Ignis plates from what were presumably laden tables. He'd demurred both times. The thought of spilling something down himself and not knowing was an excellent deterrent, and if his stomach roiled it was more with discomfort than hunger.

Prompto made a point of checking in with him every so often and extricating him (thank goodness) from conversations Ignis was in no shape to be having, invariably relocating him in Ravus' proximity. Ignis assumed this was Prompto's unsubtle hint that he needed to hurry up and make his excuses to leave early. He resisted, even when he started having to close his eyes behind his glasses because the lights and the noise were swimming into an unbearable pressure.

Ravus clasped Ignis' forearm to get his attention and placed his Magitek hand on his shoulder as he leaned in. The move felt threatening, but Ignis reminded himself that Ravus often meant well, for all that he was prickly.

"Are you planning on being our hospital's first patient, then?" Ravus asked, his voice low and accusatory. "You're swaying on your feet."

"I'm afraid I'm not seeing much of anything at the moment," Ignis admitted, finally, trying not to lean on Ravus. One did not lean on kings. "The sea journey was... rough." Not to mention the train ride immediately afterwards, and the drive here from the station.

Ravus made a disgusted noise. "Get your young man to put you to bed before you fall over. _Do_ you need a doctor? There are twenty or so within shouting range."

"I will be eternally appreciative if you refrain from shouting."

The hand on his shoulder tightened for a moment, effortless inhuman strength, and then lifted as Ravus gestured. Probably with imperious impatience, Ignis thought, judging by how quickly Prompto appeared at his side.

"I am honored that Lucis sent you all this way, and I look forward to your presence at the ceremony tomorrow. Now go rest." And so Ignis found himself released from the royal grip and dismissed; he was far too tired to feel fully mortified, but he was sure he would by tomorrow. Before Ravus returned to his guests, he asked sharply, "Scientia – have you _eaten_?" At Ignis' wry tip of his head, he sighed. "I'll have a plate sent up."

"I'd have got you stuff," Prompto said, sounding guilty as he wrapped an arm around Ignis' waist. They exited into the blessed coolness of the lobby, deserted except for guards stationed at the doors. "Elevator's faster."

Ignis would throw up in an elevator, the way he felt now. "Stairs, if you would be so kind."

He was winded by the time they got to the top and he'd pinched his fingers twice on the railing; only the promise of a bed that didn't roll and pitch at the whim of the ocean sustained him.

The plate of food was already set out on the table when they entered the room, and whoever had arranged it had thankfully chosen nothing with a strong smell or taste. Ignis had two slices of mild Tenebraean cheese on toast squares and a glass of water, enough to settle his stomach for the pills that Prompto brought him from his kit.

"You going to be okay if I head out now?" Prompto asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot

"Stay?" Ignis blurted out. "I mean... no. It's – "

"Sure." Prompto sounded as if he'd shrugged, but it was hard to tell. "I'll go grab my jammies. The bed's vast, it's no problem."

Ignis felt guilty – he was no fit company right now, and surely Prompto had things to be doing in the privacy of his own room – but not enough to make him call Prompto and tell him he'd been thoughtless and returning was unnecessary. He went to change into his sleep-clothes, falling on the steps up to the bedroom because he'd forgotten they were there, and brush his teeth, and then sat on the edge of the bed as the room rotated slowly around him. He wished he could see it; he'd always loved the airiness of Tenebraean architecture and art, and he was sure the room was lovely. He knew there were paintings on the walls, in ornate frames; he'd have to ask Prompto what they were. He wondered if it would be rude to lie down and wait for Prompto to come back.

Probaby. He stretched out and dozed anyway.

He was roused briefly by a soft laugh and instructions to _get under the covers, what are you doing, you'll freeze to death_. The other side of the bed dipped as Prompto joined him, fussing with the blankets until they were nearly to Ignis' nose. Ignis thought about saying _good night_ ; he certainly meant to, the way they had while camping or in motels over the years. But his good intentions were swallowed down whole by the yawning maw of sleep, against which he was helpless.

*

He woke to the feeling of fingers running through his hair, and thought for a moment he was still dreaming. Usually he never remembered his dreams, just the nightmares, so this was a pleasant change. But the gentle petting went on and Ignis became aware of other things – street sounds through the windows, the warm weight of blankets, the definite and real presence of another person in his bed.

Without opening his eyes – he'd keep this a dream as long as he could – he reached up and caught the hand, pulling it down to press a kiss to the palm and then tucking it between his cheek and the pillow, for safekeeping.

"Hey, Iggy," Prompto said, very quietly. Ignis hummed in response. As long as he said nothing, he was still plausibly asleep. "Dude, you've got the wrong guy. I'm not Ravus."

Ignis frowned. "And what a very good thing that is." His voice sounded rough to his ears, and he wondered abruptly what time it was; how long he'd rested.

Prompto snorted, and tried to tug himself free. "Be nice to your boyfriend."

Perhaps Prompto was the one who was dreaming. He certainly wasn't making much sense, and Ignis pointed that out to him irritably. He opened his eyes, braced for the inevitable stabs of light, but the curtains were still drawn and the room was pleasantly dim. Prompto was – Ignis shifted to get a better view – looking back at him, and Ignis abruptly remembered begging him to stay the night here, instead of in his own room and bed.

A sudden horrible realization dawned. "Is that why Noct sent me here? Does he – do _you_ – believe that I – with _Ravus_?"

"Ooops," Prompto said. "Or... maybe no?"

"Definitely no. Never." He hoped fervently that Ravus was never exposed to this speculation. He still had quite the temper.

"I'm starting to feel sorry for the poor dude." Prompto snickered. "You spent ten years hanging out with him! You guys stare intensely and nod like you'd combust if you were forced to say each others' names instead of saying hi like normal people. You're _weird_ together." 

"So of course we must be fucking," Ignis said blankly. "In what world does that make any sense?"

Prompto started laughing in earnest, and he threw his arm around Ignis and muffled the sound against his chest. "I'm sorry," he choked out, in between waves of amusement. "It's not funny."

Ignis gave in and patted him on the back. The entire conversation – the idea that his friends had been speculating (so very wrongly) about his romantic and sex life – made him feel hollow and bruised; not betrayed, precisely, but sad nonetheless. "It's fine."

That cut Prompto's laughter off immediately, though he didn't pull back. He kept his face buried against Ignis' chest, and Ignis left his hand at the middle of his back and thought about shoving all his belongings in a pack and just walking away. Follow the traintracks down into Niflheim, as he'd done before on several occasions. He'd only brought dress shoes, but surely he'd pass by a shoe-shop as he made his escape.

Finally, Prompto sighed and shifted back. "I really am sorry," he said. "And now I've made you uncomfortable and you're pissed off at me."

"I stare at everyone," Ignis pointed out, "as I can't _see_ them."

Prompto made a noise. Ignis perceived enough of his movement that he didn't flinch when Prompto's fingers brushed lightly over the scar through his eyebrow. "So I guess my burning question is, if you didn't think I was Ravus when you kissed me, did you think I was... me?"

"I knew," Ignis corrected. He felt defensive and transparent, with fingers tracing scars he'd strained to make out in the mirror but never quite could, not even with his nose right on the glass.

"Huh," Prompto said. He touched the slice across Ignis' nose. "Kissing you back would have been way more romantic. Did I miss my chance?" Ignis shook his head. "Good." Prompto leaned forward and then his mouth brushed over Ignis' in the world's most tentative kiss.

Ignis knew neither of them was that fragile, and kissed back harder and with urgency, dragging Prompto up over him and burying his hands in his hair. Prompto had hair that begged to be touched, and he never had. He ran his hands down the back of Prompto's t-shirt and along the wiry definition of his arms, wondering how many freckles he'd touched, if it was even possible to count them all. Prompto was clean-shaven, which he was thankful for: he'd had a goatee during the dark years, and then – he'd heard – a truly atrocious beard for several months. Possibly Noct had begged or bribed or threatened him into putting Lucis' best face forward on this trip.

Ignis showed his appreciation for his smooth jawline with trailing kisses and then a nip at Prompto's earlobe, which made him yelp, squirming but not pulling away. Not even when he must have known that his sleep-shorts did nothing to keep Ignis from noticing the half-hard weight of his cock, pressed between them. Very scientifically, Ignis proceeded to experiment with other places Prompto could be bitten, and what delightful reactions that provoked.

If they were embarking on a relationship – which he hoped was the case – then he wanted to proceed slowly and carefully, building a solid foundation for the future. He wasn't, he told himself, desperate to have sex five minutes after their first kiss. (Desperate to be touched, perhaps; desperate to have his interest returned; desperate to see everything that he missed, as best as he could.)

The phone rang, sudden and shrill, while he was still lying to himself that they could both exercise self-control like the grown adults they were. Rather than feeling grateful that the interruption kept him from forgetting himself (here, as a guest in the court of a foreign king, for a somber occasion), he swore sharply, startling Prompto into laughter as he threw himself across the bed to the nightstand to answer the call.

He answered with an equally quick _okay, yup, gotcha, sure_ , and then hung up with a dramatic groan.

Ignis hoped the person on the other end wasn't offended. He found himself having to hide a grin. 

"Someone's going to come fetch us for breakfast at half past," Prompto reported. "So we've got to get a move on, but she said it's casual-dress. A small intimate _thing with the king_." He rolled to his feet and stretched, arms extended over his head as he leaned left and right before hopping down the steps. "I brought my bag over last night, didn't want to run around the halls in my P.J.s like a kid on a school trip," he called, holding something aloft by way of illustration, and then unpacking all over the sofa.

Navigating use of the shower and dressing was... an interesting challenge, when he was distracted and fascinated by every glimpse of Prompto's skin, and Prompto seemed in a gratifyingly similar predicament. He kept reaching out and touching Ignis whenever they were close, and Ignis felt drawn to him, wanting to see, and if not that then to feel.

He realized belatedly that for the first time in days his head wasn't killing him, and was nearly overwhelmed with relief. He could think clearly, he could do his job, and he was far less likely to cause a diplomatic incident by vomiting on a foreign dignitary. He wasn't sure what had earned him this reprieve – time, medicine, sleep, or the kissing – but he gave Prompto all the credit.

Prompto said _aw, shucks, I'm blushing_ and then caught up Ignis' hands and pressed them to his face to feel the heat.

Ignis took that as a hint that he wished to be kissed and obliged, which of course was when there was a rap at the door.

"Coming," Ignis called, straightening the collar of his jacket as if that would make up for not having had the time to even brush his hair.

"No we're _not_ ," Prompto whispered in mock outrage, "because we're being cockblocked by breakfast."

On reflection, Ignis supposed that was true, but still... "The most important meal of the day," he informed Prompto breezily. Prompto punched him in the shoulder, which Ignis admittedly deserved, but then pulled him down by the hair for a quick kiss of apology.

"I like your hair down," Prompto said, releasing him only to give him a push toward the door. "It's useful."

"I like you," Ignis countered. Prompto stumbled, and Ignis caught him with a hand on his shoulder, tucking him up against his side. He should probably be terrified by how easy the slide was from friendship to more, but instead all he felt as he opened the door to commence the new day was warmth, comfort, and a thrill of anticipation.


End file.
